The Stranger

By Kiersten Modglin

Never trust a stranger…
But, late at night and trapped in the middle of nowhere during a terrible snowstorm, Tibby and Walker have no choice.

With roads shutting down and cell towers out, running into each other and deciding to travel together could either be their saving grace or worst mistake. When they're forced to take an unexpected detour and seek refuge in a roadside motel, the storm quickly becomes the least of their worries.

A disturbing discovery in the motel, the questionable actions of the mysterious owner and fellow guests, and a news report about a missing couple in the area set the scene for a terrifying night, but the worst is yet to come.

Each stranger holds a secret…but which one should be trusted?

From million-copy bestselling author Kiersten Modglin comes a fast-paced, heart-pounding thriller filled with secrets, lies, and hairpin twists and turns as dangerous as the icy roads the story is set upon.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kiersten Modglin
• Release date: Feb 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224355839

Kiersten Modglin

KIERSTEN MODGLIN is an Amazon Top 10 bestselling author of psychological thrillers. Her books have sold over a million copies and been translated into multiple languages. Kiersten is a member of International Thriller Writers, Novelists, Inc., and the Alliance of Independent Authors. She is a KDP Select All-Star and a recipient of ThrillerFix's Best Psychological Thriller Award, Suspense Magazine's Best Book of 2021 Award, a 2022 Silver Falchion for Best Suspense, and a 2022 Silver Falchion for Best Overall Book of 2021. Kiersten grew up in rural western Kentucky and later relocated to Nashville, Tennessee, where she now lives with her family. Kiersten's readers across the world lovingly refer to her as "KMod." A binge-watching expert, psychology fanatic, and indoor enthusiast, Kiersten enjoys rainy days spent with her favorite people and evenings with her nose in a book.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

TIBBY

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

The car in front of me crawls to a slow stop, large snowflakes clinging to every inch of its body. Even in the dark, I can see that it’s red. Obnoxious, look-at-me, I-probably-rev-my-engine-at-stop-lights red. Its wipers sling back and forth at full speed, doing little to clear the blanket of thick, white snow that seems insistent upon forming on the dark glass. As I pass the car, continuing on my way, I try to stare through the small space on the windshield that’s being kept clear to see who’s inside, but it’s impossible. Everything inside the vehicle is completely dark.

My feet are frozen inside my boots—so cold I can’t feel them anymore—and the wet snow has begun to soak through my clothes. I should’ve dressed more warmly, but I wasn’t exactly counting on being out here this long. This entire evening has been one surprise after the next.

My teeth chatter painfully as I stare at the car over my shoulder, refusing to stop moving, though my entire body is aching from the cold, every inch of my exposed skin burning while even what’s bundled up aches with something deep in my bones.

Even still, as the car speeds up a little so he’s next to me again, and I get a better look at him through the window on the passenger side, I know without a doubt that I’d rather wait several more hours in this ridiculous weather than get in the car with him.

With any him, really. It’s not that this man is particularly offensive, I suppose. It’s just that he’s a man in the first place. I may not be the smartest or most intuitive person in a given room, but I know enough to know women are rarely safe in rooms alone with men. Or cars, in this case.

He rolls down the window, keeping pace with me as he leans over in his seat. Blond hair. A little more than a five o’clock shadow across his chin. Charming smile.

It’s even worse than I thought.

I wish he had acne and a missing eye. Scars covering ninety percent of his body. A hairy mole. Something, anything, that might warn me of the danger he surely poses to me.

You need some help? he shouts over the noise of the wipers and the storm. His voice is warm and masculine but nice. Soft, despite yelling.

I want to trust him, yet I know I can’t. My body is at war with itself as I glance at him one more time. Never again will I be fooled by a handsome smile and kind eyes.

I’m fine, I shout back, squeezing my hands into fists. Move the hell along, pal. Nothing to see here.

He stares at me a while longer, clearly expecting me to say something else, then looks forward through the windshield and back at me. Are you sure? Do you need a ride somewhere? This storm is brutal.

It’s okay. Thanks, though. I focus on walking before I trip and fall on my face. I’ve had several close calls already tonight, and I know if I fall and get my clothing wet, I’ll freeze to death before I get someplace to warm up. Not that I have any idea where that someplace will be. Already, I’m worried about frostbite on my toes. I wish I’d paid more attention when we read Call of the Wild in school; maybe I’d remember more about what frostbite feels like to know when to start panicking.

My boots aren’t meant for this as they slosh through the browning snow on the side of the road. They’re fake leather, too thin, and it’s too cold for them to keep my feet even remotely warm. And even if they do, they’ll be ruined by the end of this, if I survive it at all.

To my chagrin, the car continues to ease forward, remaining at my side, and then he’s shouting again. Come on. I can’t leave you out here in good conscience. Let me drop you off somewhere. What are you doing out here anyway? Did your car break down?

Something like that, I mutter, though my voice is too low for him to have heard me. I turn my head again, shouting my response. Seriously, I’m fine.

You can’t be fine. Where could you possibly be walking to? It’s too cold for anyone to enjoy this, and I’m sorry, but you aren’t dressed nearly warm enough to be out here, he scoffs, but I refuse to look down at the jeans, sweater, and jacket I’m wearing. At least let me take you somewhere to get gloves and a hat. Maybe I have some in the car with me. Will you just wait a second?

I do stop then, but not for the reason he thinks. I take a step closer to the car, hands steady at my sides. Look, you’ve done your good deed. You stopped, you checked. I’m telling you I’m fine. I don’t need your help.

Where are you going? he asks, his head tilted toward his shoulder. Will you at least tell me that? Or…or tell me someone’s on their way to pick you up?

Fine. Someone’s on their way to pick me up, I rattle off.

Who?

My aunt. The lie comes easily.

What’s her name?

I hesitate, caught off guard. Sh-Sharon. That lie comes less easily. The pause only lasts a second, but it’s enough for him to sense I’m being dishonest.

He runs a hand over his face. Okay. Look, I’m not sure what is going on here, but the nearest town is still over an hour’s drive from where we are. You can’t walk. You won’t make it. You’ll freeze to death out here and I couldn’t live with myself if that happened.

I take another step toward the car, and he must assume he’s won, that I’m giving in, because suddenly a small grin fills his lips.

I ruin that good mood quickly, releasing a groan meant to keep myself calm. "I don’t know what you aren’t understanding, dude. I don’t need your help. I don’t want your help. Go. I wave a hand in the air, shooing him away. Go away. This isn’t going to go the way you think it is. You’ve offered, but I said no. If I don’t make it or if something bad happens, that’s on me. Your conscience should be clear. You did all you could. Bye now."

He stares ahead, the smile disappearing, and for a moment, I think he’s going to leave. Instead, he says, "But why? Why won’t you let me help you? I don’t know why you’re walking this empty highway in the middle of the night, but I know I haven’t passed a car on this stretch of road in hours. How long’s it been since you saw another car? If you don’t trust me, fine, but how long until someone you do trust comes along? I swear I’m not trying to hurt you. I just… I can’t leave you out here. I’m sorry, but I can’t."

I stare at him in utter disbelief. This man really is impossible. Why are we still arguing over this? What you can or can’t do is not my problem. I’m not getting in the car with a stranger. I’ll be fine.

He stops the car, his headlights suddenly flashing bright as he turns on his hazard lights. Then, he steps from the car and jogs over to me, his hand held out. Hi. I haven’t properly introduced myself. I’m Walker.

I force a sickly-sweet smile. "Hi, Walker. I’m walking. My voice goes flat and emotionless, and I watch as his grin goes away. And I didn’t ask for your help." I ignore his hand and zip around him, continuing to walk and hoping he gets the hint.

He’s persistent, I’ll give him that. Then again, so are most serial killers.

Now we aren’t strangers, he says. "Though I suspect, and kind of hope, your name isn’t literally walking."

Caught onto that, did you? I shake my head. This is ridiculous. At least he hasn’t raced to catch up with me yet.

You know, if I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn’t ask you to get in the car. I’d just take you, he calls from behind me. His words stun me, and I stop in my tracks. Slowly, angrily, I turn around to face him. My nails dig into my palms as I squeeze my hands into fists inside the sleeves of my jacket.

In fairness, he has a point. If he meant me harm, he could easily try to pick me up and shove me into his car. He underestimates my will to survive, however, and the fact that I would fight with everything I have. He thinks I’m just a woman—a helpless, defenseless woman.

Sometimes, I think that’s our best weapon. Let them think we’re weak until we have to prove otherwise.

I don’t have any weapons on me. Feel free to search my car. I’m not a threat to you. I just want to be sure you’re safe. I’d offer to call you a ride, but there’s no service out here for miles. He gives a half-shrug as if to say he’s thought of everything. "I get that you don’t want my help—don’t need my help—but can you just…can you just get in the car and let me drive you to the nearest town so you can get someone’s help? He laughs through a pleading face. You’re shivering, and it’s killing me."

I hadn’t realized I was, but now I notice he’s right. My body is so cold I’ve begun to lose feeling everywhere. Freezing isn’t a bad way to go, from what I’ve heard. Just like falling asleep.

For the record, it’s not like that’s why I’m out here. But it beats being skinned alive or whatever this monster might have in store for me. I’m not an idiot, and his little act of pretending to care doesn’t fool me.

Can you at least tell me your name?

Why? I challenge.

Hell if I know, he says with a sigh. But I have this feeling in my gut that if something happens to you, I’ll never forgive myself. And, since I’m a southern gentleman, neither will my momma. One corner of his mouth upturns with a charming smile that has worked wonders for him in the past, I’d be willing to bet. My parents taught me manners, Walking.

At that, I snort. But obviously not to know that no means no.

His jaw drops open, his finger up in the air. Now look, this is not that. I know that no means no. I’m just… I’m trying to help you. I’m trying to make sure you don’t freeze. I begin to walk again, and this time, he jogs to catch up. Unless that’s your plan.

I set my jaw, pinning my chin forward. I’m not going to freeze.

Respectfully disagree.

Crossing my arms, I give a sharp nod without looking at him. And that’s your right.

He scoffs. Are you really so stubborn you’d let yourself die out here just to avoid getting in the car with me?

Better so stubborn than so stupid I get in the car with a stranger and end up dead.

Do I really look dangerous to you? He shoves both hands out to his sides dramatically.

I cut a quick glance his way without really looking at him. You’re a white male in your thirties, so if you’ve watched the news, like, literally ever, I’m not really sure I need to answer that question.

He laughs then. I mean really, really laughs. His head falls backward, mouth gaped open as he releases the warm sound into the night. When he’s done, he’s winded and out of breath, like this is a comedy show, and I’ve just made his night. As he finally pulls himself together, I can’t believe I’m still standing here. I’m utterly shocked at how dumb we both are.

I guess that’s a fair point, he says eventually. Then, as if it’s on his side, the storm picks up, icy pellets of snow smacking me in the face and arms, clinging to my hair. The wind howls in sync with the voice inside of me screaming that I’m going to freeze to death if I don’t find somewhere warm and dry soon.

I’m very concerned about my toes, which no longer have any feeling left. Each step is accompanied by a sharp, lightning sensation in my legs.

I want to survive this. Deep underneath everything else, the fear, the anger, the confusion, I know that I want to make it through this night alive. The question is, how do I do that? What am I supposed to do when I have two paths laid out in front of me, and neither seems safe, though they’re my only options.

I could get into the car with him, see what happens, and hope for the best. Or I could keep walking and hope I don’t freeze to death. Either way feels awful, but only one of those options seems to have a slight bit of hope to it. Only one of the scenarios seems like at least a fifty percent chance of survival.